


Dreams at Dusk

by FortinbrasFTW



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Multi, exo dream times, exo memory stuff, reflections on loss, sad shiro feeds me, slight cayde/andal vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortinbrasFTW/pseuds/FortinbrasFTW
Summary: The slicing shards of what dreams he could remember these days hadn't changed much. It's the waking that was different. A soreness to his throat, something tired and scratched, like the scuffed butt of a magazine slammed into place once too often. Didn't make much sense, and he wasn't too keen on puzzling it out. But it continued to nag, like a shank on his heels. It made him feel worn out, and that, well that wasn't any kind of comfort.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Dreams at Dusk

He must yell in his dreams. 

He can't be certain, the sleeps he takes these days is few and far between. And when he does sleep, and when he does wake, what's left behind is the same old feeling of _cold_ , grasping down his throat, clambering through the silicon cording and metal frames deeper and deeper like something starved. What's left behind are sharp images, too crisp on their corners and lost in other meaning. Dark lines, towering and buried. The distant sun catching just so on a stern architecture in frozen air. 

Andal used to talk about human dreams. It was all stories, all concepts, leaving the images fuzzy around the edges. "I was in my bunk, but it wasn't my bunk. It felt like home, but it didn't, you know?" Shiro didn't know, and neither did Cayde, no matter how often he hummed assent. 

Shiro and Cayde didn't talk about dreams.

The slicing shards of what dreams he could remember these days hadn't changed much. It's the waking that was different. A soreness to his throat, something tired and scratched, like the scuffed butt of a magazine slammed into place once too often. Didn't make much sense, and he wasn't too keen on puzzling it out. But it continued to nag, like a shank on his heels. It made him feel worn out, and that, well that wasn't any kind of comfort.

Memories sneak up on him, pictures sharp on the corners. Andal's cloak catching the brilliant winter light as he stormed back over the metal catwalks of the hanger. Cayde's low whistle, catching electric just on the edges.

"What's got you all wound up? Speaker crawl entirely up your ass this time?"

Andal's scowl softened, almost to a smile, but not a true Andal smile, the one that put snow-capped mountains to shame, a smile almost too bright to take in all at once. Shiro often wondered just how far Cayde would go to make that smile bloom. Shiro had seen him die for it at least half a dozen times, and hell who knew how many more-- the two of them been a pack longer than he'd been around for.

"Let's go," Andal said then, his shoulders almost slumping, frustration leaking out from his edges. "I can't stand this place."

"Oh, come on, it's not so bad." Cayde glittered. "You have that baklava yet? Who invented pistachios, huh? Good on them." 

But they followed Andal's trudging all the same, Cayde dancing around his heels, leaning over to see if he won that grin yet. Shiro four steps behind. As always. 

"I'm just tired, Cayde," Andal admitted finally. His voice was low in the rush and hum of the hanger, a voice just for them. Or maybe it wasn't meant for Shiro at all... he never could quite tell. "I think I can make them understand, but that room, I'll tell yah it bleeds conflict out of anyone like something viral."

"Ew," Cayde said simply. That won the first flash of Andal's smile. Shiro was behind the swinging slough of his cape, so he didn't see it himself, but there was only one thing that could make Cayde's eyes light up like that.

"Yeah..." Andal went quiet, swinging down a set of metal steps without touching them, making his way towards their ships, nestled together towards the edge of the dock. The afternoon light caught against them. Sharp edges. Dark towers. Cold air.

"I just don't like yelling," Andal quipped, his tone lightening already. "I'm not good at it. Makes my throat sore."

"Yeah, we don't have those barrel chests titan's got on 'em," Cayde said, puffing out his and then collapsing in on himself as an example.

Shiro thinks he said something then, something about titans having strength but warlocks having a stamina too well suited for politics. He thinks Cayde had winked at him. Blue against the sky. Andal smirked, his ghost fluttering around the ship bringing it to life.

Shiro remembers the way Andal's fingers curled around the back of his neck, subtle, just catching on dark hair. He rubbed there for a moment as his eyes closed, breath catching in the cold on the lip of the hanger. His fingers had drifted, clever, younger then they should look, ghosting over the line of his throat experimentally where the edges of stubble faded.

Shiro lets his own fingers mimic that memory now. The air of Venus thick, clammy, and sweet in his manufactured lungs. Still, his breath is raw on the edges as he inhales. Maybe he was yelling in his sleep. Who'd know? There was no one here to wake up, no one here to tell him to stuff it. Just him, and the flicker of his ghost in the sultry golden light of Venus' evening.

He can't remember the last time he yelled, so how would he know? He tries to recall, he even pushes further than he knows he should, into that languid sickly place in the depths of his exo mind that none of them want to touch. But there was nothing.

Andal yelled when he was caught in a place his instincts couldn't pull him out by the scruff of his neck. It was a frustrated thing, confused and briery. Cayde was just the opposite. When he was furious, really, rarely, he'd go deadly quiet. But he _crowed_ when he was victorious, claiming existence, claiming his space, his moment in this illusion of time. "I'm here! I'm fucking alive! Don't you _dare_ forget it!"

Shiro never yelled. The closest he came to yelling was killing. And he'd certainly be doing plenty of that lately.

The soreness tightens in Shiro's throat. He tilts his head just slightly around it. He hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes. He opens them again, letting his thumb trace the handle of Trespasser thoughtlessly.

A bar, smoky and vibrant with life prickles in his memories.

"Can't you tell, Andal? Shiro's over the moon! He's actually leaning back when he sits. He's not even checking the door!"

A corner of a cave. The rot-sweet smell of hive thick on the air. Cayde's eye's flickering in and out, Andal shaking his head.

"It's alright you know, Shiro. I messed up... fuck, I know it. It's alright to be mad, hell pissed. You can let me have it."

Andal's eyes desperate on his.

"You really can."

Shiro stares at the Venus sunset. It oozes through the overhanging foliage, dripping gold and glory. 

"Hey," Shiro hears himself say softly. His voice feels a bit strange in his mouth. He hasn't spoken for a few weeks.

His ghost uncurls next to him, small light attentive.

"Do..." he starts, "do I yell ever? In my sleep?"

The light blinks back at him. "No."

He waits a moment. Then another. "Do you see my dreams?"

The worn little frame gives a simple spin. "Sometimes. A little." Her voice is close in the humid air.

He makes a gentle sound of acknowledgement, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He's not sure why. It's not cold. Maybe he's just too used to the gesture now.

It's quiet for a moment. Well, as quiet as it ever gets in the jungles of Venus at dusk. 

"Are you," she starts after a moment, hesitating, "are you angry with them?"

"No," Shiro lies.

"Are you... happy for them?"

Eventually he answers. "No."

A reptilian cry sounds overhead as something shuffles in the canopy. Nothing worth noting, just the murmurs of life in this place. The gentle drone of insects adjusts steadily as they change shifts from day to night.

"It would be okay, you know?" She says.

"What would?"

"If you were angry. With them."

The darkness would be here soon, the planet's face steadily turning into the welcoming night. He'll start to hunt when the shadows eat up the day.

"Do you want me to help with your throat?" She asks.

Shiro straightens his back and swallows, testing. The cords tighten, worn and strange. He shoulders the scout rifle. The light was almost gone. Might as well go.

"Sure," he says, eventually. "Thanks."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Destiny fic and my first fic generally in A WHILE. Anyways here for Sad Shiro.
> 
> The Destiny fandom is SO GODDAMN INSPIRING, I feel so so lucky to be around such awesome high quality work! Y'all kick ass.


End file.
